Defective Tragedy
by Lewd Concubine
Summary: DROPPED. Taking Aoba to Arbitro's club for his birthday was a very, very bad idea. Togainu no Chi/DRAMAtical Murder Xover. AR. Mink/Aoba, Shiki/Akira, Ryuuhou/Koujaku. Rated M for dark themes and sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

**Defective Tragedy: Chapter One**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

Sometimes Aoba really didn't know what his friends were thinking. Sure, it was his birthday, but it wasn't like he was turning twenty or anything. That was years ago and they hadn't tried anything like this then. Aoba didn't want to know what made twenty-four special enough for them to venture into the forbidden Northern District to visit The Palace. If this was any indication of how the year was going to be, he already didn't want any part of it.

"Why the sour face? It's your birthday!" Koujaku threw a friendly arm around his shoulders but it only made Aoba scowl harder.

"Ah~ Koujaku-sama, you planned all this for me? Kyaaa..." Aoba shrugged the arm off and rolled his eyes.

Beside them, even Akira cracked a smile. Aoba glanced sidelong at him, wondering if it meant he had a hand in this absurd idea.

Probably not.

Koujaku didn't need any help being ridiculous. He was an expert all on his own.

There was suddenly a fist grinding into the top of Aoba's head.

"Heeeeey, no fair judging when you've never even been."

Aoba squirmed away from the noogie. He scowled again.

"Koujaku..."

The man met Aoba's annoyed tone with a brilliant smile, the exact one that made all the ladies swoon for him. There was a deadly twinkle in his eye too-one that let Aoba know just how serious Koujaku was about getting him laid on his birthday.

His resolve wavered even though he was still irritated. It was hard to stay mad at someone with such good albeit mislead intentions.

Aoba gave a relenting sigh.

If possible, Koujaku beamed even harder.

"That's the spirit." He clapped Aoba on the back.

Akira coughed and Aoba's face reddened.

There were no two other people on the planet he'd rather have by his side if things went bad. And yet this was still so embarrassing.

Aoba thought he was handling the breakup very well. He and Trip just weren't meant to be and never really had been if he was honest with himself. It had been a bumpy three-year ride, but it was over now.

He was moving on. Really. It was just taking a little while.

Not that one could explain anything like that to Koujaku, though Aoba really wished he could've been there to see him convince Akira to come along.

Probably made some comment or another about how dangerous the area was. That in combination with the fact that Koujaku would most certainly be disappearing through some curtained doorway with several ladies tonight likely sealed the deal.

Whatever the case, Aoba was glad. He didn't want to brave The Palace by himself nor did he want to be left alone there ever. Not with all the stories he'd heard about the owner and his shady club.

Arbitro's "Palace" had four tiers, if the stories were true. On the first level, a regular club with all the booze, drugs, and sweaty dancers of any. The second, a more special club for those experimental types. Aoba once heard something about light shows and stopped there.

Then there were the sex clubs. A vanilla one and a fetish one. Arbitro, of course, could always be found in the latter.

Aoba pretty much knew which one Koujaku would take them to. Once again, he thanked whatever god was listening for Akira's presence. Aoba was pretty okay in a fight, but it was always good to have a Bl ster champion around. Koujaku did share that infamy, but Aoba doubted they would be seeing much of him once inside.

They trudged past decrepit buildings and through murky alleyways until Aoba was thoroughly lost. Occasionally, they met a passerby. No women, though. Not that anyone approaching respectable ever frequented the Northern District.

This was not a place for families. Only hardened criminals, idiot thrill seekers, and Igura participants could be found here. His friends were famous enough to be known even here. Aoba winced at the thought of what would have happened to him if he were alone, even despite the lack of tags hanging around his neck or affiliations tattooed on his body.

He glanced over at Koujaku, imagining he could see the man's Beni-Shigure team tattoo. Koujaku took this as enthusiasm and continued to extol the merits of going out on his birthday.

"I think," said Akira, after a while, "we're almost there."

Aoba opened his mouth to ask him how on Earth he of all people could know that, but then he saw the crowd. Once they rounded the corner, the street was teeming with people. It was mostly young guys, but there was a smattering of women here and there. The majority of people were talking and laughing. The rumors about it being one of the few neutral zones, or oases, in the Northern District were not exaggerated.

Aoba looked to the side and caught a flash of extravagant blonde hair above a whole mess of geometric black tattoos. He shuddered.

Akira looked where he was gazing and shrugged.

"Don't worry. We're on neutral ground," Koujaku said, referring to the fact that Arbitro's feared team of Executioners wouldn't do anything too bad here.

"Remind me why I agreed to this, again."

Koujaku just clapped him on the back once more. They joined the teeming mass of people and were inside all too soon.

One hour and two drinks later and Koujaku finally managed to coax him into abandoning the "tame" first level and going to see the lights. He let the trio down a popular spiral staircase in the back. Aoba followed the gold-trimmed, bright red carpet with his eyes and kept his hand on the banister. While it was true he was a bit buzzed, it was mostly nervousness that inspired his caution.

Aoba wasn't like Koujaku. He didn't have any experience with things like this. The closest thing to a club he'd ever been to was Mizuki's parlor and there he'd known most of the people so he'd felt safe just letting go. Here he was among criminals and unfamiliar Rib teams. Aoba had already gotten more than a few looks, but he wasn't yet drunk enough to even consider it. He stayed glued to Akira's side the few times Koujaku wandered off to get them drinks or chat with guys he knew and let people assume what they would.

The music grew louder as they descended until Aoba could feel the bass vibrating through his entire being like a second heartbeat. They arrived in a surprisingly more relaxed area. People were lounging around under dim, purple lights. Some were making out in the shadows. Others were sipping drinks from tall, crystal glasses. It was certainly classier than the first level. Aoba could already tell that.

Koujaku led them to the closed doors at the other end of the room. He smiled and elbowed Akira.

"This ought to lighten you both up." Koujaku then proceeded to briefly explain the effects of the next room. However, nothing could quite prepare him for the shock of experiencing it for the first time.

Bass thundered through Aoba's body like nothing other just from Koujaku cracking the door. Then the lights hit him. Aoba squinted against the sudden glare and would have taken a step back if Koujaku hadn't grabbed his arm and dragged him inside.

"Wai-" The music drowned out Aoba's protest. Not that the ever enthusiastic Koujaku would have let him off the hook today of all days.

He let himself be dragged deeper into the room and was eventually able to open his eyes all the way. When he did, he could make out the shapes of writhing bodies all around them. The dance hall had mirrored floors that reflected back the huge strobe lights. The whole place overloaded Aoba's senses until it seemed he was only a pair of eyes and ears. Lights flashed, music boomed, and his consciousness drifted just as Koujaku said it would.

Knowing wasn't enough to stop it. And he hadn't said it would happen this fast.

Still, it wasn't a bad feeling.

Aoba began to sway to the music. Beside him, Koujaku and even Akira swayed together.

Aoba's spirits lifted and any reservations he had before disappeared. The trio danced and swayed until several members of the sparse female population approached them and predictably spirited Koujaku away.

Aoba hardly noticed. The room was spinning now. It was so good that it was almost bad. Aoba giggled. He didn't feel like himself at all and he didn't care one bit.

All sense of time disappeared as he and Akira danced, but eventually his bladder informed him that yes, he had in fact had several drinks before coming here.

He leaned into Akira and yelled "toileeeeet." Akira had dazed eyes and didn't say anything back, just nodded.

Aoba stumbled away in what he thought was the right direction. He reached the top of a different staircase when someone grabbed his arm. Aoba smiled blankly at the stranger, who grinned.

"You're totally high," the unfamiliar voice said.

The miniscule part of Aoba's brain that was still functioning properly disregarded that.

"Hey, you know where the toilet is?" His voice came out with a slight slur. The guy with the yellow mohawk and multiple piercings on his face shook his head. He still grinned and that made Aoba grin too although he couldn't have said why.

"Nooooo, well I gotta find-"

"This is your first time, isn't it?" Mohawk still had a hold of his arm and now dragged Aoba closer to him. A faint sense of alarm started somewhere deep inside Aoba's mind but couldn't penetrate the pleasant haze surrounding his awareness.

"It's my birthday," he said, in a bright voice. Aoba completely ignored the hand now caressing his arm.

Mohawk chuckled.

"Well, birthday boy, I'll tell you something you might not know." He brought his mouth to Aoba's ear and whispered the next. "These lights can make you feel good in other ways too."

Mohawk kissed him, one hand already heading for Aoba's crotch. He squinted and jerked his head back.

"Wha-"

"I can help with that. What do you say?"

"N-no…" Aoba tried batting his hand away. His cheeks were now stained a deep crimson, but he didn't-

The man leaned in to suck at his neck and Aoba let out a ragged gasp. He was losing the battle. Then Aoba did something he never, ever would have done ordinarily. He used his Voice.

"I said no."

The sound cut through the faintly pulsing music like a knife. Mohawk jerked back so hard he almost flew into the wall. It was hard to tell what surprised the man more. This, or the vicious punch he received a second later.

Mohawk went tumbling down the stairs and Aoba looked up to find one of the tallest, broadest men he had ever seen staring at him with cold eyes. His cheeks, if possible, flamed harder.

"I-"

But the man only turned away, leaving Aoba gaping like a fish. He snatched a glance down to where Mohawk was sprawled out at the foot of the stairs, then back to the now-empty top of the stairwell. Aoba cautiously ventured up to find a luxurious sitting room.

There was a panoramic view of the club and the writhing dancers below. Cream and red couches lined the space. The man from before was sitting on the edge of one. He was leaning on his knees and smoking a long, thin pipe.

"Over there," he said, in a deep, rumbling voice before Aoba could even open his mouth. He followed where the man pointed with the pipe and saw the sign for the men's restroom.

"Th...thanks…" Aoba swallowed dry, then began to stumble in that direction. He couldn't take his eyes off the man and as a result almost tripped several times. Aoba finally made it in and managed to relieve himself after fumbling with his zipper no less than three times.

Aoba washed his hands and then swayed in front of the sink as he studied his reflection. There was still a lingering blush and he definitely felt more sensitive now. With all danger forgotten, Aoba giggled to himself and pulled faces in the mirror.

Minutes or hours later, he stumbled back out to find the man now reclining on the couch.

"Sit."

Aoba received the command just as he was passing in front of the sofa opposite him. He sat more from surprise and inebriation than anything else. Once he did, the soft cushions about swallowed him up and he found himself leaning back with his head lolling as he stared out at the bright lights flickering below.

It was some time before he was able to tear his eyes away to regard the man with the dreadlocks. Aoba's face radiated heat once more when he realized he was staring.

The man didn't say anything, which in time made him squirm. Those cold eyes never left him, compounding the feeling. Worse, they were doing something else to his body. Something surely inappropriate, and just from looking at him…

"Thanks for before," Aoba finally managed. His voice sounded weak even to him.

"Don't thank me," came the reply. "I didn't do it for any noble reason."

Aoba didn't know what to say to that. They lapsed into silence once more. The man took out his pipe and smoked it again. Aoba fidgeted, becoming more and more restless under that heavy gaze.

Finally, the man stood and walked over to him.

"Can you stand?"

Aoba thought about it and decided he could. He lifted himself up on shaky legs and just as quickly fell back onto the couch. This made him laugh for some reason.

Aoba soon found himself being helped up. He leaned against the older man for support without any of the sense of shame that he would have felt while sober.

"Heeey." Again, his voice had a slight slur to it. "What's your-"

"Mink." One strong arm composed entirely of corded muscle herded him toward the stairs. Halfway down, Aoba remembered his manners.

"I'm Aoba."

"I know. I've been looking for you."

Aoba was too far gone to question that. Instead, he said what was really on his mind.

"Do you want to…" He gestured out at the teeming crowd.

Mink didn't say anything, just guided them out onto the floor. Aoba noticed more than a few stares, but it didn't really register as weird. He was far more focused on Mink's body next to his. The man didn't dance, not really. He didn't have to. Aoba was doing all the work for him. Mink's large hands rested on his hips and Aoba swayed to the booming bass as if he had been doing this all his life. All too soon and he was practically rubbing himself all over Mink's body. Aoba never questioned his actions or Mink's receptiveness to them. Instead, what began to come over him were memories he had only recently buried. Aoba could almost taste Trip's mouth on his, could almost feel his thick cock filling him. Years of being fucked into every surface imaginable clashed with the present until everything became almost indistinguishable. Time was a concept forgotten along with most other things. Aoba only knew that he wanted. He wanted…

Aoba leaned into Mink's rock hard body and put his mouth right next to Mink's ear.

"I want you to break me." The words sent a heady rush through his body. He could feel himself rising just from the thought. "Messily, sloppily…" He'd uttered these words to Trip on more than one occasion. Now, though, they couldn't have felt more right.

Aoba felt Mink take a harsh breath and then the man was guiding them away from the other dancers and toward another staircase. Aoba followed him without question. Every nerve in his body was on fire just from the contact of Mink's guiding hand alone.

The sound of the music faded as they went, which was just fine with Aoba. He could hear Mink's careful breathing now as they approached the next level down. Mink kept them going past this and down another flight of stairs.

They didn't quite make it inside.

Mink pushed Aoba into a nearby wall and towered over him.

"Here? But people will-"

"Don't care."

He gave Aoba the command to strip, but Aoba couldn't quite make his fingers work on his belt buckle. Mink gave an irritated grunt and did the work for him. Soon, Aoba was exposed for all to see. And see they did, but it was Mink's cold gaze that had him standing proudly erect.

The man smirked-the first real expression beyond anger or apathy Aoba had seen on him.

"You're already this hard and I haven't even done anything to you." Aoba could hear the implied slut in his tone, but that just made it even better.

His breath stuttered in his chest as Mink commanded him down to his knees. Aoba's hands fumbled on Mink's zipper, but this time he managed to get it down. Soon he had an unfamiliarly large and ever expanding cock in his mouth. Aoba moaned around it as he sucked Mink. He could hear whispers and even feel the titillating sensation of eyes on him from time to time. This and the strong hand in his hair only spurred him on. Yet he was pulled away by his hair all too soon. Aoba whined, this soon degenerating into a moan as Mink pressed him against the wall once more. Then Mink lifted his leg and plunged inside without any preparation.

Aoba's back bowed at the sensation of a hot knife stabbing him so deep. He all but screamed from the pain. Only his lingering inebriation and conflicting messages from his erection halted his voice. The noise came out garbled instead and only seemed to spur on the surrounding voyeurs. An unfamiliar hand touched his thigh, but Mink slapped it away.

More whispers. Aoba cracked open an eyelid through the pain of Mink pounding into him and found a large crowd of men in fetish gear watching them with aroused and sometimes amazed expressions.

Mink jerked his head with one large hand.

"Look only at me."

Aoba did. He started to feel good with the weight of those demanding eyes on him. Aoba made little noises at first. These escalated with the increased force of Mink's thrusts.

"Enough?"

"No...a-ah, harder, more."

Mink complied and soon Aoba's vision flickered from it all. Every nerve in his body seemed to pulse with the rhythm. He could feel the heaviness building in his cock.

"I'm gonna-"

Aoba lasted only a few more seconds with Mink's dick reaming him so well. Mink continued on as if nothing had happened, wringing more pleasure from Aoba's body with each thrust. Then he came to the sound of moans from the onlookers.

Aoba watched him with heavy eyelids, which soon closed.

.

Koujaku let the women lead him away from his friends and to the staircase. One gripped his arm harder, pressing her ample bosom into it as she guided him. The other jealously did the same.

"Maya, Ryoko, there's enough of me for both of you beautiful ladies."

They both giggled at the same time and kept guiding him. The three went down a level and then one more. Much to his disappointment, they didn't take him inside the club. Instead, they prompted him to a side-door.

Koujaku went along with them down the hallways past several closed off rooms and to their own private serving area. So this was how it was going to be…

Koujaku was on his third glass of tea poured by the giggling women when he realized something was wrong. By then it was far, far too late for no.

.

Akira watched Aoba leave, but could only feel mild concern for him. Ordinarily, he would have followed. Not now with the lights and sounds overwhelming everything. Akira could hardly think.

He danced for some time alone and then with other people. At one point, he was grinding himself against a stranger without ever having seen the man's face. None of it seemed real. Nothing mattered but the pulse of the speakers and the lights strobing across the room.

It was a long time before he noticed that something wasn't quite right. It started with his current partner leaving him. No big deal, another would come. Except one didn't.

Then Akira looked around and found that the dance floor had suddenly become sparse. He glanced around and found the source of the disturbance.

Aoba saw the bodies first-even from here he knew they were dead. There was simply too much blood. His eyes widened and the strobing lights showed glimpses of a pale figure dressed all in black cutting through the remainder of the crowd, katana flashing.

Adrenaline flooded Akira's system. He stood fast, unlike the majority of people now cowering along the sides of the room or on the floor like dogs.

The figure stilled, then turned to look at him from over its shoulder. Piercing red eyes met and held his gaze. This was all the warning Akira had before the man was on him. It was only by reflex that he managed to get his knife up in time. Metal screeched as the katana that would have beheaded him slid along his short blade.

He met the man's chilling stare and gritted his teeth. The stranger pressed harder, but Akira didn't give any ground. Those eyes were without mercy. He knew he'd be dead before he could blink if he relented.

Eventually, something surprising happened. The stranger smirked and jumped away. Akira was left panting from the sudden exertion. He tensed, looking around for the other man. Akira found him farther away, already sheathing his katana. He mouthed some words, but nothing could be heard over the music.

Akira faced him even as he strode over the gore-covered dance floor and to the back where the staircase down was. Even after the man disappeared, it was hard for him to let go of his knife.

Akira looked around at the scores of bodies littering the dance floor and then at the ashen faces of the survivors. He felt sick.

He definitely had to find Aoba and Koujaku. They had to get out of here.

.

Koujaku's eyes snapped open at the feeling of a hand traveling down his naked back.

"Oh? You're awake." It was a man's voice. Soft, delicate, proper, but definitely male. Koujaku tried to move his head to see exactly who was feeling him up but found he could not.

In fact, he couldn't move much of anything beyond his tongue.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I'm not a woman was next on his tongue, but then Koujaku remembered where he was. A shudder passed through his body.

"Nothing like that." There was disdain in the voice, now. "I'm an artist."

"An artist?" Koujaku's mind immediately blanked. What on Earth…? Then something came into his vision. It was an old-fashioned tattooing implement. Koujaku's blood froze in his veins. He swallowed, hard.

"You're crazy."

"Now, that's not very nice."

"Let me go." Some of his old, familiar anger bubbled up, lending heat and spice to his words. Koujaku could practically feel the stranger's smile at this.

"Please feel free to scream." Koujaku felt that hand again and then something pointy just pressing into his skin. "It inspires me."

.

Aoba woke to the unfamiliar sensation of lying across someone's lap. He opened bleary eyes and was immediately aware of his pounding headache and dry mouth. Aoba was also very painfully conscious of his hands bound behind his back.

He wanted to ask what exactly was going on, but the gag in his mouth prevented him. Instead, he made some muffled noises as he sucked on the ball in his mouth. Aoba tried pushing it out with his tongue, to no avail. A big hand ran down his side and he stopped. Aoba shuddered and turned his head to see-

A complete stranger. That's what Mink was at first, until the memories came flooding back.

Aoba blushed scarlet when they did. He closed his eyes to the sound of excited whispers and opened them to see the same large crowd as before. Mink was sitting on some sort of elevated love chair and they were all regarding him with awe. It was almost as if he were a king or something. And maybe he was-a Rib leader, at least. There was no way of knowing at present.

He heard a snatch of conversation.

"...can't believe he actually...with somebody…"

"I know, right? Mink-sama has never…"

"I'm so jealous…."

Aoba squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on his breathing until it faded. When next he opened them, he took careful stock of the room and found that it was, as advertised, a dungeon. Yet instead of dark colors, this fetish scene was awash in crimson and white. On the opposite side of the room, an ornate throne held one of the flashiest men Aoba had ever seen. He had a mask on, but Aoba could feel those glittering, hungry eyes on him. His blush reached his neck and he looked away.

Aoba remembered Mink's words from earlier and gazed up at his face, blocking out everything else. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw the hint of a smile for the briefest of moments.

Mink finished the pipe he had been smoking and set it aside. He jerked Aoba up by his throat and brought their faces close together.

"If you use that mouth for anything but sucking me, I'll break every bone in your body." This was uttered softly, sweetly, like a lover's endearment.

Aoba shuddered, letting out a strangled gasp.

Mink undid the gag and released him. Aoba sank to the floor without any semblance of pride under Mink's heavy gaze.

The whispering increased in both frequency and volume. Aoba could feel dozens of eyes glued to his naked flesh, but he tried not to pay attention to them.

"Do it yourself," Mink said, as if anticipating Aoba's question.

He swallowed and regarded Mink's jeans. How was he supposed to do this with his hands bound behind his back? Mink's gaze guided and emboldened him to use his teeth on the man's zipper. Aoba got it down and thankfully found Mink half-hard already. It just took a bit of nosing until he freed the man's cock.

Aoba set to work with his cheeks flushed from the humiliation of it all. He wasn't high anymore and he would definitely not have that as a crutch to fall back on later. No, Aoba had no one to blame but himself for his own burgeoning erection. Why was it that this turned him on? Was he really that kind of guy?

Aoba felt stripped bare of everything civilized and reduced to some kind of primal state.

He moaned around Mink's cock as he took it down his throat. The man's face was stoic as ever, but Aoba could tell by his jumping thigh muscles that he was enjoying this.

The humiliation went on forever and yet not long enough. Soon, Mink raised him as he had the last time. He kept Aoba facing toward him and away from the crowd and handled his splayed legs until he was positioned just right. As before, Mink entered him in one swift thrust. His giant hands held Aoba's hips as he forced Aoba to fuck himself on his cock.

Aoba moans ever increased in volume. He couldn't seem to keep his mouth closed, and drool pooled at the corners of it, sometimes leaking over with the fervor of his voice. He had never felt this lewd in his life.

They were the center of the room's attention, but that was nothing when compared to being the object of Mink's sole regard. Aoba was vaguely coming to understand that Mink was some sort of idol here. And he had chosen Aoba…

The thought made him harder than ever, and more eager to perform. Aoba rolled his hips to Mink's fast rhythm and finally got the man to part his lips. Mink gritted his teeth as Aoba took control, fucking himself thoroughly on Mink's cock. Yet for all his efforts to endure and please, it was still Aoba who came first and still Mink who wrung every lingering bit of pleasure out of his receptive, wilting body.

When it was over, Mink let Aoba slide to the floor and ordered him to clean it. Aoba did so almost gratefully, licking and swallowing every remaining bit of semen off Mink's cock. Only then did the man dismiss him.

Aoba was guided away by several pairs of hands to a bathroom where he washed up. When he emerged from the shower, he found his clothes neatly folded on top of the toilet. Aoba put them on, trying not to focus on the throbbing pain in both his head and ass. The hot water had helped, but he was still sore, tired, and feeling hung-over.

Aoba couldn't recall feeling this embarrassed before in his life. He was sure things like this happened here all the time, but he'd never...in public, no less. The thought brought the almost ubiquitous crimson stain back to his cheeks.

Aoba stared at his reflection and willed it away. Long minutes later, he emerged with new resolve to find his friends and get the hell out of there. Aoba'd had enough birthday fun to last a lifetime. All he wanted now was his warm, safe bed.

The first thing he saw on back in the club was not Mink, but Akira's worried face.

"Have you seen Koujaku?"

Aoba replied that he had not.

Akira took his shoulders.

"We have to find him."

Aoba frowned. "Well, yeah."

"You don't understand," Akira said, and something in his eyes scared Aoba. "We have to get out of here."

.

And now a totally unnecessary A/N:

The title is from the Gazette's (back when they were still just Gazette, I believe) song that I listened to for six hours straight while writing the majority of this. They have a new DVD out, did you know? Title subject to change if I think of a better one!

This is dedicated to my good friend and muse Maya (Emochromatic) who got into DRAMAtical Murder just for me. We both agree that Mink is the best thing since, well, Shiki.

[3:36:11 PM] Ryoko: pssst check the fic now

[3:36:17 PM] Ryoko: helpers are canon lmfao

[3:37:03 PM] Maya: Oh my god

[3:37:10 PM] Maya: I don't know how I feel about this

[3:37:17 PM] Ryoko: you and I enable Ryuuhou, that's how you should feel

We are the most terrible, seriously. But you already knew that.

I really hope you guys enjoy this one. It's fun to write for a different fandom once in a while. If you have any questions, comments, or wishes, I am a review or PM away.

Until the next installment wherein Shiki and Mink face off with a screeching Arbitro in the background!


	2. Chapter 2

.

**Defective Tragedy: Chapter Two**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

Aoba opened his mouth to say _something_, but at that moment the low throbbing bass cut out leaving nothing but the suddenly deafening silence.

Aoba looked around Akira and saw something he never would have expected.

Blood everywhere. Bodies piled at Arbitro's feet. Mink warding off a smaller, katana-wielding man dressed all in black.

"Wha-wha-WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Arbitro's screech filled the room. His eyes were almost as wide as Aoba's. Before Aoba could process anything further, a rough arm dragged him back into the bathroom.

"Don't make a sound." Akira's tone was severe enough to register through the shock.

"O-okay." Aoba's voice felt small even to him. He let Akira back them both into a stall and shut the door.

Akira kept his knife out as they strained their ears for the slightest sound. Ages passed, maybe longer. Aoba's legs shook. Sweat perfumed the air.

Finally, Akira pulled back the lock and peered into the bathroom. He held a hand up for Aoba to wait and slowly walked toward the exit. Aoba watched in silence, unsure whether to follow. After a few leaden moments he started after his friend. Akira soon turned and nodded. His posture was still tense but not nearly as much as before.

"Let's go."

They emerged into the once luxurious club, now battered and torn. Aoba spotted Mink, but there was no sign of the bodies. The scary guy who'd attacked him was already gone too. Aoba stared at the long, crimson line running down Mink's arm until Akira grabbed him. He knew it was a pointless worry considering everything, but he still…

"We have to find Koujaku." Akira snapped him back to reality and he nodded. Aoba let Akira guide them out of the once decadent fetish club and onto the landing. They climbed the stairs one level up to the regular sex club and found a similar scene of carnage and ruin when they searched inside.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Aoba said, after spotting a piece of gore that the clean-up crew missed.

"Let's go. He's not here."

Aoba followed Akira up the next set of stairs, both his sickness and worry mounting with each step. What if Koujaku had been in there when it happened? What if he was-

Aoba didn't want to think about it. He couldn't and he wouldn't. Not now, when there was still hope.

They had to find Koujaku.

He and the pale-faced Akira searched both remaining levels in The Palace to no avail. Tears were just starting to form when Akira suggested they make one more round starting from the bottom up.

"Okay." Aoba's voice was small and wavered. They headed back down to the fourth level once more. Shameful memories chased Aoba everywhere he went. Mink had...right there…

Aoba blushed crimson despite his worry and regardless of the circumstances. He pushed the sensation down quick enough but he was sure Akira saw. Yet Akira didn't say a thing. He was too busy staring at an opening that Aoba didn't notice before. A red velvet rope hung in front of the darkened hallway.

"Do you think he's down the-" Before Aoba could finish the sentence he noticed a trio of dark figures coming down the hallway at them. Akira's hand went to his knife and Aoba tensed. When the figures came closer, Aoba realized that two of them were women and the third looked to be some kind of security personnel. He relaxed until he recognized them.

"Hey, aren't those the girls from earlier?"

Akira frowned. "Yeah." He approached the trio without hesitation. Shock kept Aoba still for a split second before he followed.

"Where is our friend?" Akira could be downright scary when he wanted. The security guy and one of the two girls glared. The other smiled. Aoba would have thought her cute with those dimples at any other time. Now, that smile just seemed predatory.

"Well?"

"Who?" said the much taller, glaring girl.

"Koujaku," Aoba said, at last.

"Listen," said the smiling girl, "I don't take names."

"And I don't kiss and tell," said the other one.

Aoba thought he could actually hear Akira grinding his teeth. He stepped in again before Akira's brusque manners could scare them.

"Listen, we don't care about what happened before. All we want is to find our friend. Look around. I'm sure you can understand why. Can you please help us?" Aoba thought he might have gotten through even a little bit but then they seemed to notice the blood stained door to the club. The two made to hurry off with the security guard but Aoba stopped them once again.

"Stop," he said, using his Voice once more that night. The trio halted as quickly as if they'd hit an invisible wall. "Where is Koujaku?"

"He belongs to Ryuuhou-sama, now," said the taller girl. She clapped her hands over her mouth afterward and ran as if chased. The other two followed suit. Aoba shouted, but even his Voice couldn't penetrate the hands covering their ears nor bring an end to their screeching.

"Who the hell is Ryuuhou?"

Akira shook his head. In front of them, the dark hallway beckoned.

Aoba exchanged a glance with Akira, who clenched his knife firm in his hand. They ducked under the rope and started down the hallway.

It took Aoba a minute, but his eyes adjusted. He found that it wasn't actually pitch black or anything, just darker than even the low lit landing. They passed several red-lit rooms, one of which was filled with bizarre drawings, including a picture of a man bristling with so many needles that he resembled a hedgehog.

Aoba's unease grew with each step they took toward the spiral staircase at the end. He couldn't believe there was actually a fifth level down in this place. He knew Arbitro was a deviant and likely a criminal, but this seemed a bit much. He tried to reason with himself. It was probably some kind of staff breakroom or at worst a place to store Line.

Nothing could have prepared Aoba for the solid wall of individual cells they found deep in this dark, still corner of The Palace.

Aoba glanced inside the first one and flew back to smack against the opposite wall. He couldn't get the image out of his mind and he doubted he ever would.

The hedgehog man was _real_.

Shock kept Aoba paralyzed as the blood in his veins iced over. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. Or, at least, he thought so at first. Then Aoba realized that the thin, terrified animal noise was coming from him.

It took Akira-who in retrospect, Aoba would find, was much paler than normal, slapping him for it to stop.

Aoba blinked, the sting fierce and real and immediate.

"A...kira…" He swallowed. "We have to...Koujaku."

It was hard for him to form a coherent string of words, let alone thoughts. Of all the things he had seen since coming to the palace, this was by far the worst.

It was just the first of many such cells. And they had to look inside each one in case Koujaku couldn't hear their calls.

Aoba's whole body trembled at the thought. But he wouldn't give up. Not on Koujaku. Never.

"I know," was all Akira needed to say.

They made their way cell by cell, looking inside and finding many more horrors. Akira took the lead and spared Aoba the worst ones, though nothing could erase what he'd already seen.

They called for Koujaku, but there was no answer.

Then, finally, just when Aoba was trying and failing to imagine a world without him, they turned they passed through the doorway at the end of the cellblock and Aoba thought he heard a noise. It was faint at first, but then resolved into Koujaku's deep, masculine voice. Screaming and...moaning?

They broke into a run.

.

It was impossible to tell how long he'd been there. Time was a relative concept. Koujaku came to define it by whether or not Ryuuhou was busy stabbing fire into his back. Thus far, there had been eight sessions, though Koujaku couldn't have said how long they lasted. Nor could he have measured the breaks in-between.

There was no clock in this opulent, red-stained room. The drugs with which Ryuuhou continually injected him distorted even his internal one.

Koujaku could not tell if it was night or day. All he knew was pain and temporary relief. Ryuuhou would work on him for an indeterminate amount of time and then stop to rest his hands. None of the reprieves were for him. That much he knew.

This Ryuuhou-the man had been only too happy to tell him his name-was a sadist. Koujaku fought not to cry out each time his wicked sharp tool pierced his back, but it was a losing battle. With no other outlet for the intense agony, he ended up using his voice.

Koujaku couldn't even turn his face into the pillow or bite his knuckle, which would surely have been bloody and raw by now. No, the drugs paralyzed him and left him able to feel everything.

A true sadist's dream concoction.

Koujaku would have been absolutely certain he wasn't the first one even without Ryuuhou's nonstop monologue about the beauty of his other "works of art."

With each bit of ink etched into his skin, Koujaku felt that much more of his soul slip away. He was angry, livid even. But more than that, he was ashamed.

Somewhere along the line, the pain had become almost pleasant to him.

It was the worst sort of degradation imaginable. Koujaku had always harbored a fierce hatred for those pigs who took advantage of the fairer sex. But at least victims of that kind of violation would have a chance to move on and rebuild their lives. Koujaku was going to be stuck with these perverse markings until he died. He would never be allowed to forget. A part of him would always belong to Ryuuhou now.

"Your skin is so beautiful, Koujaku-kun." The man whispered this in his ear tenderly, as if they were lovers. "But I'll make it even more pleasing."

Koujaku felt the words seep down inside of him. They settled like dead things.

"I'm going to kill you." The anger was still apparent in his voice, but it contained something new now.

Koujaku began to cry out in a very different way soon thereafter.

.

"Here," Akira said, as he passed him an issue of a foreign magazine.

Aoba clutched his knees to himself harder. He didn't otherwise move.

Akira just set the magazine down next to him.

Aoba's fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. He stared off into the dark, rotting corner of the room. It wasn't like he could read English anyway.

"How can you be so calm?" he asked, finally.

They'd had to make a quick escape after the Executioners showed up. They hadn't been able to save Koujaku, after all. Aoba couldn't erase the tormented image of his friend's face from his mind. That monster had been- had been-

Aoba buried his face in his knees. His eyes burned but no tears came out.

"We'll get him back." Akira's voice was still too calm.

"Even if we did, he'd never be the same. You know that."

"Even so," Akira said, and then was silent.

Aoba startled suddenly at the thought of the stoic, dispassionate Akira now being so unusually vocal. He picked up the magazine and did his best to tear it in half. When Aoba couldn't even accomplish this, he threw it into the musty darkness. It smacked against a wall and flopped onto the floor. The pages fell open to a picture of a tattooed person and Aoba saw red.

Everything felt out of focus. Aoba couldn't wrap his mind around what had happened. He lapsed into silence. Akira didn't say anything either, and eventually the two drifted off into a troubled sleep.

Aoba awoke with renewed purpose. He nudged Akira.

"Hey, let's go. I've got an idea."

Akira nodded and rose to his feet. The two set off for the district border while Aoba explained.

"We've got to get everyone involved," he said, referring to Beni-Shigure and Lost Dogs, their respective Ribsteez teams. It would be one of the most embarrassing things ever, but they were beyond that now. And as much as Aoba valued his friendship with Koujaku, he knew Koujaku's "family" would miss him even more. It would be unforgivable not to enlist their help.

Akira and Aoba fast made it to the Northern District's border, but a curious thing happened when they tried to cross it. One second Aoba walked like normal and the next it was as if he ran into an invisible wall. Aoba flew back and landed on his ass, Akira not in much better shape.

He sat dazed for a second before trying again. This time, Aoba stretched out his arm in front of him and went slower. This time he felt the barrier although he still couldn't see it.

"Shit. I thought only Igura participants couldn't-"

Behind him came a noise. Aoba whirled to find Akira pressed against the wall by one of a number of unfamiliar men.

"Hey," said the burly man, "hiding your tags's against the rules."

"Let go," Akira said, before Aoba could pipe up. He gripped the arm pinning his neck to the wall. Akira's eyes were like steel, the scariest Aoba had ever seen him. "We're not participants."

That inspired a round of raucous laughter from the surrounding men.

"Just how fucking stupid do you think we are?"

"Let him go," Aoba, said, using his Voice. "We're telling the truth."

To his shock and dismay, none of the men seemed to Hear him. Aoba froze, but didn't have time to be unsure as the first guy came at him. He was unprepared and ended up backpedaling into the invisible wall and then getting zapped forward by it.

By the time Aoba recovered his senses and fighting spirit, he had received several more blows. Still, Aoba managed to fight the first guy off. He was a panting, aching wreck.

Aoba stared at the guy on the ground and kicked him over onto his back.

"That means I won," he said, drawing on what he'd heard about the game. "Now get lost."

"Ahhhhh, that hurt." Aoba turned his shocked gaze onto the guy he'd just beaten up. The man rose to his feet and chuckled as if he hadn't just been worked over. "No fair."

"Since you don't play by the rules, why should we?" Their sneers turned more ominous and soon three more came at him.

Aoba saw Akira fighting his way free through the barrage of arms, knees, and legs, but wasn't able to get past the increasing number of people between them. He held his own but knew he couldn't last forever against these seemingly tireless guys.

Aoba took punishing blow after punishing blow and gave just as good as he got, but nobody seemed to feel it. This wasn't good. They needed a way out.

Aoba saw an opening and took it. He shoved past the men attacking him and rammed himself against the one attacking Akira.

"Run!"

Akira didn't have to be told twice. Aoba was right behind him, and so were their pursuers. Aoba could hear their footsteps and curses.

"We've got to draw them apart," Aoba said. "I'll go right, you go left." It was an old strategy, but one he hoped would work.

Akira nodded and they peeled off at the next opportunity.

Buildings flew by, glass crunched underfoot, and still Aoba could hear them following. He thought his sides would split and gasped for breath. Then he saw his opportunity.

Aoba ducked around a corner and grabbed a hanging ladder. He climbed almost faster than his feet could carry him and quickly pulled it up behind. Then he began to pound up the steps toward the roof. Aoba froze when he heard the men get close. He held his breath as they ran under him and didn't let his muscles relax until they were out of sight.

Aoba climbed up to the roof and then flopped on his back. He lay there for some minutes in the quiet before checking his coil and realizing it was broken. Aoba cursed and sat up. Without Ren and his coil, he was all but blind. He didn't know how he'd find Akira now.

Aoba waited until he thought it was safe before venturing out onto the now dark streets. He crept from one building to the next, trying for a glimpse of Akira. All in vain. Eventually, the chill of the streets and the creepy feeling of being watched sent Aoba inside.

His hunger and thirst, aches and pains, kept him awake late into the night. Eventually, Aoba found rest, but not before planning his next move. It was useless to look for Akira in such a big place. They would never find each other. But he did know of one person he could find who might be able to help.

Mink.

.

It was easy enough for Akira to escape his pursuers. Harder, though, to deal with the men he now faced: Arbitro and his Executioners.

"You stood in Shiki's way and survived." Akira didn't know what he was talking about at first but gradually it dawned on him that he meant the mass murderer from the club.

Arbitro's high-pitched voice grated and the lecherous look he gave Akira made his skin crawl. He didn't say anything. The only reason he was even still standing here was because he knew the Executioners would stop him if he tried to leave. They hovered by their master like dogs spoiling for a fight. The bloodlust radiating off the two was incredible and certainly nothing he wanted to mess with.

"Not a talkative one, are you?" Arbitro smiled and Akira tensed. "Well, that's okay as long as you know your place."

"What?" Akira's throat was dry.

"From this moment on, you'll be participating in Igura." Arbitro dangled a string with five tags in front of him.

"_What_?"

"Dear me, it's a good thing you have a pretty face." Arbitro pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back. The Executioners chuckled and jeered.

Akira stared at Arbitro in utter incomprehension.

"What do you want from me?"

The blonde Executioner chuckled harder and gripped his sides.

"Hey, watch it with the claws!" The other one gave him a shove. Just like that, the two started arguing.

Arbitro still smiled, but now it seemed forced. After a bit he turned to them and snapped, "shut up!"

The blonde scowled but they both obeyed.

"I've already told you what I want, _Akira-kun_." Akira shuddered at the slimy feeling he got from Arbitro saying his name. He had no idea how the man knew it but he didn't like it.

Things were getting more complicated by the second.

"Why?"

"You don't need to know."

Akira gritted his teeth.

"And if I say no?"

Arbitro just smiled. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to with the blonde dragging the back of his blades across his throat and sticking his tongue out.

"You don't get t' say no to Arbitro-sama." The blonde Executioner dragged out the title and chuckled as if he'd just made a hilarious joke.

Akira weighed his options. Finally, he held his hand out and took the tags. That seemed to please the man.

"You're smarter than I thought. Oh, and there's just one more thing. A test."

Arbitro sprayed something in Akira's face before he could ask what that meant and he went down, down, _down_.

.

Akira woke up in a skirt.

His mind grappled with the idea of it at first but when the fog cleared it was still there.

The fabric was pink with little red hearts.

Akira stared.

Then, calmly, rationally, he looked around for his pants-

-all in vain.

Akira thought about taking it off but realized with dawning horror that his underwear was gone too.

The Northern District was not an easy or kind place. He imagined he'd last all of twenty minutes before prospective rapists descended upon him with or without the skirt. He wasn't sure which would lessen the odds.

In the end, Akira decided to turn the skirt inside out. Beige was a much better option than pink for keeping his virginity. The hearts still showed through though. Akira tied his jacket around his waist as a further disguise. It helped, but not enough to make him confident. He tucked all his tags inside his shirt for lack of a better place and headed out.

Akira kept to the shadows as he headed for the closest neutral zone. He didn't believe in God or fate or anything like that but that didn't stop him from praying to whoever was listening that he could make it without being seen and also that they sold pants there.

He wanted no part of Arbitro's test, but this was nothing he could help. Before Akira could ponder this any further he passed in front of a dark alleyway and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice came like a gust of wind out of the shadows. Akira almost didn't hear it through the sudden downpour accompanying the words, but when he did his body froze and he automatically grabbed his knife.

Akira managed to get it up just in time to block Shiki's katana. Metal screeched as he fought the sudden onslaught with all of his might. Yet it was a losing battle.

Fortunate that Shiki seemed to notice the skirt at that moment. A look of revulsion passed over his hard features.

"In that."

"What?" Akira ground the word out on pure reflex. Water dripped from his soaked hair and into his eyes.

"Disgusting." Shiki's blade squealed against his trembling own. "You're lower than a dog." Shiki grabbed Akira's throat and squeezed while still keeping up the pressure on Akira's knife. His eyes widened, but he couldn't stop it. He was using both hands, everything he had, just to keep the katana away.

At this rate, he was finished.

That strong hand on his throat squeezed harder. Akira saw spots and felt his strength falter and with it, his hand. He almost closed his eyes, but Akira was never one to back down-especially when it came to this man.

Shiki's lips curled into a cruel smile almost as if he sensed the thought. There was a deafening sound and Akira registered Shiki's katana buried in the wall beside his head. He belatedly realized his hand had dropped. He didn't have the strength to raise it.

"Who...asked...you…?"

Shiki was still smiling and, as Akira was coming to know, this was never a good thing. He felt through the numbness a force ripping at him and then he was on his hands and knees in the pouring rain. Akira was just glad to catch his breath. He didn't realize what had happened until the wet fabric against his ass registered.

Akira looked up to find Shiki with his naked blade in one hand and the jacket in his other.

"You want it back?" Akira's jacket hovered in front of his face. He could almost touch it. "Beg me."

When Akira didn't seem ready to comply, a smirk drew those cruel lips upward once more.

"Rebellious."

Shiki let out a bark of laughter and tossed the jacket over his shoulder like a prize. His slow, measured footsteps took him farther out of reach until all Akira could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears amidst the rain. He stayed like this until he could muster both the energy and the dignity to stand before moving on.

Akira arrived at the neutral zone shop soaked and bloodied. And still in the skirt, wet now along with the rest of him. That had been Shiki's final insult to him, to leave him in that after taking his jacket. The humiliation burned his cheeks up, but he knew he still had to endure this last public display before he could curl up in a ball and disappear.

"I need pants."

"Uh-huh," the shopkeeper said, as he looked him up and down. Akira's cheeks flamed harder. All traces of his usual stoicism were gone. He felt raw.

When the shopkeeper had his fill, he produced a pair roughly two sizes too big for Akira. He slid over the required pig tags anyway and took them, ignoring the hot eyes he was getting from some of the other men. They couldn't touch Akira here and he could hold his own once properly dressed.

Akira retreated to a nearby stairwell to change. Neutral zone or not, there was no way he was risking the bathroom. This was fast becoming the worst day of his life, rivaling even the one previous, and he didn't want to make it worse.

Akira felt much better in the pants, ill-fitting though they were. His spirits lifted until he tried to use his coil and realized it was broken. There was no way for him to contact Aoba now and he knew searching would be useless. Akira didn't know how much time had passed but he was sure it was too much. He was cold, hungry, and still tired from whatever drug Arbitro'd dosed him with. Akira sagged to the floor and eyed the shining tag now lying openly on his chest. He had to take care of himself first. Then he would find Aoba.

.

Thanks for reading! As always, I welcome any comments, questions, and suggestions. I put this up unbeta'd and in a rush after getting the last of it written so please forgive any mistakes (and feel free to point them out to me!). I may come back to edit it later. We'll see.

Happy September! Enjoy (or not) the skirt. I'm laughing evilly right now just so you know.

Until the next installment wherein Mink is an asshole and Shiki is, well, _Shiki_.


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